


Dance of the Swans

by MorganBartonRomanoff



Series: Clintasha Advent 2020 [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Implied Relationships, Inspired by Music, Light Angst, Red Room - mentioned, Strike Team Delta (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27981942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganBartonRomanoff/pseuds/MorganBartonRomanoff
Summary: Day 2 ofClintasha Advent 2020- MusicShe turns to music when she aches the most. Sometimes, the only thing he can do to help is be there for her with a cup of tea.Part One of my Black Widow Bingo 2020/2021 - Square filled - Character in Distress
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Series: Clintasha Advent 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049084
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Dance of the Swans

**Author's Note:**

> Also written for the Black Widow Bingo 2020/2021 by [blackwidowbingo](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/blackwidowbingo)

He could hear Tchaikovsky blasting out of the training room and winced. Coulson had been right; she really wasn’t doing well. Then again, what had they expected? Red Room missions always got to her, roused that vindictive spark that thirsted revenge and demanded blood. He would never blame her for it – he knew her history.

The doors wouldn’t open for him as usual and he had to punch in the security code while balancing a chamomile tea and a coffee in each hand. The soundwaves that hit him as the heavy armed steel slid open made his aids crackle unpleasantly, and he cursed himself for not thinking of this in advance. Regardless, he pushed on, eyes trained on his target.

She looked like a storm embodied, vigorous, furious, destructive, running drill after drill after jab after kick after swing, droplets of sweat running down her skin. His heart clenched at the sight, but he kept his mouth diligently shut and retreated to one of the benches, making sure she saw him, recognized the way he stepped and moved. He put down the mugs to the side and lowered the volume of his hearing aids.

He’d seen Swan Lake several times now, all with her. He knew how bitter of memories the ballet brought up. He’d seen her in this state before – back in the time when she’d barely known him as well. Except she never usually played the pas de deux’s. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t look away. He wished he could be able to claim guilt-free that it had nothing to do with the grace and elegance with which she moved, or the way each and every step of offence seemed so alike to the past she’d never been able to had, the cover she’d been forced into, the thing she’d loved the most, probably still did.

Whatever he tried telling himself or others, it was clearer than day; right then and there, she wasn’t fighting an imaginary enemy. She was dancing. And she was absolutely mesmerizing. If he didn’t know any better, he would completely overlook the danger she posed. That, and he wasn’t blind. Knives were strapped all along her legs and at her hips, around her wrists. She was a blizzard, a cyclone of blades in the making. He hesitated then. Did he really want to be present when she finally unsheathed her weapons?

But then he looked at her carefully again and saw right through her, right through Tchaikovsky and her carefully crafted defense mechanism. He needed to be by her side, if not for her, then for himself. He didn’t know how he would live with himself if he abandoned her at a time like this, when her mind was playing tricks on her and she doubted reality more than ever. When she probably felt more alone than she had in her entire life.

So he sat back and enjoyed the show. Took pointers. Made notes for her. And when she had finally exhausted herself and fell to the mat in a breathless heap, he took both drinks, now lukewarm, into his hands again, and made his way to his partner. She looked up at him from beneath fiery curls, something broken and devastated in her eyes. He reached down, handing her the tea, and sat next to her. Still breathing heavily, she leaned her head on his shoulder, ignoring the sweat that rolled down her forehead, and he pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

The Dance of the Swans kept blaring in the background.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: [ohwriteiforgot](https://ohwriteiforgot.tumblr.com)


End file.
